


A Bundle Of Questions

by Haberdasher



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Amnesia, Angel/Demon Relationship, Angels, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angsty Crowley (Good Omens), Awkward Romance, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Crowley's Eyes (Good Omens), Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Crowley's Sunglasses (Good Omens), Crying, Demons, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fallen Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Fallen Angels, Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Memories, Memory Loss, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Oblivious Crowley (Good Omens), Other, Post-Canon, Questions, Recovered Memories, Sunglasses, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2020-11-08 17:26:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20839265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haberdasher/pseuds/Haberdasher
Summary: Crowley suddenly loses his memory, which would be trouble enough if what he’d forgotten hadn’t happened to include a number of very pertinent tidbits about his current lifestyle and state of existence.





	1. Chapter 1

It had all started with a single, seemingly-innocent question.

“Say,” Crowley had asked, head arching up towards Aziraphale as he spoke, “d’you have any idea what we’ll be up to next?”

The two of them were in what had been Crowley’s flat, and was now Crowley and Aziraphale’s flat, though they had been dancing around the details and implications behind their joint ownership of the living space. Crowley was sitting in his favorite chair, Aziraphale standing behind him, as the television blared on, though the program was there for background noise more than anything else, as they had both seen this particular episode of this particular mediocre sitcom before, and this wasn’t the first time they had spoken over it, either.

“Well...” It was nice not having to be on a schedule anymore, being able to sit back and enjoy as seconds and minutes and months and years went by without having to worry about it all coming to an end, but that didn’t mean Aziraphale was _entirely_ lacking in plans for the future. “I was thinking in a couple hours, once the lunch rush dies down, we could go to that nice little Indian restaurant we visited last month.” Aziraphale smiled a bit, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm, as he added, “I’ve been having _such_ a craving for their curry lately...”

“Nothing bigger than that, though? No greater mission?”

“Not as such, no, I’ve got no greater mission than that in mind right at the moment.”

“Suppose we’re just waiting to hear back from head office, then?”

The smile slid off Aziraphale’s face. The topic had come up before, of course, of one or both of their (former) respective head offices hunting them down and getting back at them once more, but it had been a bit, and it was a subject Aziraphale preferred not to think about when at all possible. It wasn’t the first time Crowley had brought it up, but him doing it so nonchalantly was a bit... unnerving just the same. “In a sense I suppose we are, yes, but why do you ask?”

“‘Cause I can’t remember.”

Silence followed for a long, solemn moment, interrupted only by the voices coming from the television set briefly before Aziraphale thought to turn it off.

“Funny, isn’t it?”

Aziraphale got a sinking feeling as he realized the implications of what Crowley was saying. “Funny isn’t the adjective _I_ would use to describe it, no.”

“It’s _weird_, then, if that works for you--whatever adjective floats your boat, really. But it’s weird not being able to remember something like that.”

Aziraphale looked down at Crowley at an angle that almost, but not quite, let him see Crowley’s eyes behind the sunglasses. “What, exactly, is it that you can’t remember?”

Crowley thought for a moment before making a vague, wobbly hand gesture and saying, “Everything, really. Why we’re here--I mean, _here_ here, just standing around watching the bloody telly in the middle of London. Why we got paired up in the first place, though I guess it makes sense, pairing up two angels to make sure one of them doesn’t get up to no good-”

Though the sinking feeling got worse as Aziraphale processed that yes, Crowley had said “two angels,” plural very much intentional, the angel still had to stop himself from laughing. Pairing up two angels on Earth to prevent one of them from getting into trouble would have been a very sensible idea on Heaven’s part, it was true. Perhaps that was why they hadn’t actually done it in the first place. Heaven had a lot of things going for it, but Aziraphale felt that it was a place where common sense could be a bit... lacking.

“-it’ll help out here, actually, you can fill me in on everything I’ve forgotten, can’t you?”

Aziraphale hesitated before asking, “Let’s start with this. Is there anything you _can_ remember still?”

The absence of a quick response from Crowley might have been enough to confirm Aziraphale’s worst suspicions, but then Crowley’s response came, soft and reverent and very much unlike the Crowley Aziraphale had gotten to know and love. “I remember building some of the stars. That was _lovely_.”

Aziraphale considered and discarded a number of possible replies before finally settling on, “...I think perhaps the curry had better wait.”


	2. Chapter 2

“So you don’t remember anything after building the stars?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley wrinkled his brow in silence for several seconds before responding. “It’s... odd. I remember that some things happened after that, but not what I was doing at the time. Wouldn’t the other way around make more sense, if I had to lose some of it?”

Aziraphale shrugged. None of this made much sense in his mind, but Crowley’s hypothetical there didn’t seem any more sensible to him, really. “What do you remember... happening without you, then?”

“Well, when She was still figuring out exactly what to do with... well, the world, Lucifer defected, and a bunch of others with him, and there was a War-”

“Yes.” Aziraphale said, perhaps a bit hastily. It would probably be for the best if Crowley didn’t dwell on that particular bit of history right this moment.

“-and we won, of course, and then She finished making the earth, and humanity, they got kicked out of the Garden of Eden-”

“Yes?” Aziraphale was curious, now, what else Crowley would find worth mentioning. Did he remember his outrage at hearing that all the world would drown save for Noah and his family, or Jesus being tortured for the crime of suggesting that people be kind to one another, or the Apocalypse that would have been if a motley crew, the two of them very much included, hadn’t prevented it from ending life as humanity knew it?

“-and humanity just kind of... kept going from there. I’ve got all that. Just nothing about _me_.”

“You don’t even remember-”

_Falling?_ Aziraphale did not say, at least not out loud, though his mind was practically screaming it.

“-your own name?”

It was a good question, even if it wasn’t the one Aziraphale _really_ wanted to ask. Crowley’s name was hand-picked, chosen by nobody but himself, made to suit him and him alone. It was a marker of who he was, personal in a way no other demon’s (or angel’s) name was.

Crowley furled his brow again for a moment. “Haven’t a clue. That’s probably not a good sign, is it?”

Aziraphale very carefully did not respond, though deep in his heart he agreed that Crowley forgetting his own name, of all things, was a very, _very_ bad sign.

“So what _is_ my name, then, anyway?”

For a split second, Aziraphale hesitated.

He _could_ tell the truth, tell Crowley that his name was just that, but-

But Crowley wasn’t a very angelic name, now, was it? (Not that it was a terribly demonic name, either. Above all else, the name Crowley seemed _human_, very convincingly so, which Aziraphale figured was probably part of why he’d chosen it in the first place.) And if Crowley was currently under the impression that he was a non-Fallen angel, telling him that he used such an non-angelic name was likely to lead to a series of awkward questions very quickly.

Besides, it might be nice to give memory-less Crowley a different name, help differentiate him in Aziraphale’s mind from the Crowley he knew. This being who thought he was an angel and only remembered building the stars wasn’t the same person he’d spent over six centuries being amicable adversaries towards, after all, and certainly wasn’t the same one who’d stood by him as the two of them chose humanity over their respective sides in the divine schism. A different name might help Aziraphale remember that fact, at least until he found a way to restore the demon’s memories. (And he _would_ find a way of doing that, one way or another, no matter what.)

So Aziraphale thought of a name that he knew had belonged to _some_ angel once upon a time but that he hadn’t heard mentioned in a long, long time and went with that instead.

“Raphael. Your name is Raphael.”

For a brief moment, Aziraphale thought that Crowley was going to call him out on the lie, but instead “Raphael” simply shrugged in response. “And your name?”

“Aziraphale.” The angel tried not to make his relief that the false name had taken too audible in his voice.

Raphael laughed a little and said, “Raphael and Aziraphale, eh? Think that’s why the two of us got stuck here together? Almighty paired us up just ‘cause we’ve got matching names?”

“...I hadn’t even considered that possibility.”

It was technically true, which was perhaps the best kind of truth, especially in cases such as this one. Aziraphale _hadn’t_ considered the possibility, because several of the underlying assumptions that had to be true in order for it to _be_ a possibility were in fact quite far off the mark. But Raphael didn’t need to know that much just yet.

“Hmm.” After a moment, Raphael got up from his seat and stood up, looking Aziraphale’s way eye to eye (well, eye to sunglasses) as he added, “What did I do, anyway?”

Aziraphale blinked rapidly in confusion. “I’m sorry?”

“Well, I have to have done _something_, right?”

“...I’m not quite sure what you’re getting at there, I’m afraid.”

Raphael let out a grunt of frustration before continuing. “I mean, angels don’t just lose their memories all willy-nilly. You don’t just go bumbling around on earth and whoops, oh no, memories gone, what a shame! And even if earth did have something that could do that, it’d probably be part of- of some big battle or something, not something that’d get sprung on you when you’re just hanging around watching the telly.”

Aziraphale quietly nodded, starting to suspect where Raphael was going with this and not terribly caring for it.

“But _Heaven_, now, wouldn’t surprise me if they had something like that saved up for those who misbehave. Go too far in the wrong direction, do something that pisses off the wrong people, and poof, memories gone, you can go back to being a good angel again without even knowing what it was you did wrong in the first place.”

Aziraphale numbly nodded again, his own thoughts having reached a similar conclusion, though from a different direction--Heaven might well have something to wipe _demons’_ memories, something that they had planned to break out in the second War that never was, a secret weapon against their age-old enemies. Aziraphale had never heard of such a thing ever being developed in the first place, but then, such sensitive information was very likely to be distributed on a need-to-know basis, and it was entirely too likely that Heaven, or representatives thereof, had made the decision that Aziraphale didn’t need to know.

“But you’ve been here with me this whole time, so tell me--what did I _do_?”

“Um. Well. About that.” Aziraphale cleared his throat, only to find that the words he had been expecting to magically spring up when he did so were still nowhere to be found.

“I did something bad, didn’t I? Something really, really bad?” Raphael’s voice was wavering there, his emotions clear enough in the way it weakened and hesitated even with his eyes still hidden away. The only times Aziraphale could remember Crowley’s voice sounding anywhere near that emotional, he had been rather drunk, enough to lower his inhibitions and let his guard down a bit more than he would normally, but the demon was stone cold sober right now.

“No, no, not at all!” Aziraphale rushed to comfort Raphael, but the only comforting gesture that came to mind as being appropriate without being overly familiar was wrapping his arm around the demon’s neck and shoulder, which felt a bit awkward when he actually did it. “In fact, I think you’ve been very good lately.”

Part of Aziraphale still expected the reaction he would normally get from calling Crowley “good,” which would be the demon hissing and moaning and protesting with every bit of his being that he wasn’t good, that whatever he was it certainly wasn’t _good_, that good was a four-letter word and those were verboten around here, Aziraphale should know that by now...

But Raphael didn’t protest the comment at all. In fact, it seemed to cheer him up a little, turning what had been a frown into a smile, though a weak one at that, one that could clearly turn right back into a frown with even the slightest provocation. He sniffled a little--wait, had he been _crying_? If he had, the tears must still be concealed under Crowley’s sunglasses, as Aziraphale couldn’t see any other sign of them.

“Really?”

Aziraphale tightened his grip a little and tried to put on a cheery face. “Really.”


	3. Chapter 3

After a moment, Raphael took a deep breath (that he didn’t strictly need, of course, but sometimes deep breaths were worth taking just the same) and composed himself a bit further, shrugging Aziraphale’s arm off of his shoulder and taking a step back to face the angel.

“Right. So. If you don’t know anything more about _that_-”

Aziraphale still couldn’t see Raphael’s eyes through the sunglasses, but he could swear he felt their gaze directed his way just the same, still sizing him up as he struggled to figure out his current situation.

“-I guess I should get to know this place better. Whatever ‘this place’ is.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to respond, though he wasn’t entirely sure what his response was going to be, but Raphael either didn’t notice or didn’t care, as his own speech continued to plunge ahead without even a hint of hesitation.

“It’s awfully dark in here, for starters. Is that supposed to be some sort of mood lighting, or did someone forget to pay-”

“It’s because you’re wearing your sunglasses inside.” There was definitely a touch of exasperation in Aziraphale’s voice, because that seemed like the sort of thing that should have been easy enough to figure out with a bit of sitting and thinking things through rather than just throwing yet another question Aziraphale’s way, and perhaps a hint of satisfaction as well, as the angel had privately wondered for some time whether Crowley’s sunglasses actually affected his vision like regular sunglasses do for some time and only now, under some rather unlikely circumstances, had his answer.

“I am? That seems a little daft, doesn’t it?”

Aziraphale privately filed that remark away to be saved for the “to gently tease Crowley about when he’s back to normal (because _he will be_)” list that he suspected might be adding up at a rather quick rate if this went on for much longer.

“I mean, you can always... take them off, if you’d like.” Aziraphale mimed the gesture of taking sunglasses off, but didn’t dare to actually touch them; he got the sense that Crowley’s sunglasses were practically as much a part of him as his actual body was by now, and he would never think to touch them without getting explicit approval beforehand.

Raphael mimicked Aziraphale’s gesture and removed the sunglasses, letting them fall to the floor without giving them a second glance.

(Crowley wouldn’t have been quite so casual with them, Aziraphale knew. Crowley _cared_ about his sunglasses, and while he always had plenty of spares handy he did his best to avoid having to actually use them. Just dropping them on the floor like that could get them scratched--or worse, cracked--though Aziraphale didn’t look too closely to assess the actual damage done.)

“Ah, yes, that’s better. Can actually see what I’m doing now, without those blasted things on. Now, let’s see...”

Raphael began to scan his surroundings in a manner that felt both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time, somehow, and not altogether pleasant, for that matter.

“Got the telly.” Raphael pointed to it, and while it stayed off, Aziraphale could swear that some extra bits of static danced across the screen for a moment there. “Very sensible. Got to keep up with what the humans are doing.”

The way Raphael said “humans” was wrong. It felt so dismissive, so condescending, writing off all of humanity with a single tone of voice. _He_ hadn’t ever talked about humans like that, had he?

Raphael stepped back a bit to get a better look at the chair upon which he had been sprawled out just a few minutes earlier. “Chair’s a bit ostentatious, but not in a bad way. I like it, really.”

“You should.” Aziraphale couldn’t help but add.

Raphael raised a single eyebrow, asking a question without having to say a word in the process.

“You’re the one who picked it out in the first place.”

Raphael nodded slightly, keeping his gaze fixed on the chair for a few more seconds before moving on.

“Over there... is that a greenhouse?”

“It is, yes.”

“Fascinating. Whose idea was that one?”

“Yours again. The greenhouse was all you.”

“Huh. Don’t see what’s so interesting about a bunch of plants-” Another thing to tease Crowley about someday right there. Add that to the list. “-but alright, I believe you.”

Raphael took a few steps towards the greenhouse before apparently changing his mind and heading back towards Aziraphale, who for his part was silently relieved that Raphael’s examination of the greenhouse hadn’t gone much further. Even the few steps that he had taken towards it had been enough to get the plants visibly shaking, though if Raphael had noticed their unnatural movement, he didn’t show it.

Raphael moved from room to room hastily and erratically after that, seeming to be looking for something but not knowing exactly what, spitting out question after question with little in the way of pauses in between.

The examination of the kitchen had been painless enough, at least, minus a bit of Aziraphale having to defend keeping food around the place.

The examination of the bedroom, on the other hand, was a great deal more awkward.

“There’s only one bed?”

The answer was obvious enough, but Aziraphale gave it out just the same. “That’s right.”

“But you said we _both_ live here.”

Right. That.

Aziraphale hoped that Raphael wasn’t making too many logical leaps there, or if he was, that Aziraphale’s own response would put some of those assumptions to rest. This was not a conversation he was ready for just yet.

“Well, I don’t really sleep much myself.” Aziraphale hastened to reply, hoping he didn’t sound too flustered or hesitant.

It was true enough. Where Aziraphale had learned to love the human necessity of eating, Crowley had learned to love sleeping instead, and it seemed that neither of them entirely understood the attraction of the other’s human trait of choice, though they tried to pretend otherwise from time to time.

This didn’t, however, mean that Aziraphale didn’t from time to time use the bed in _other_ ways.

(For one thing, the angel had spent many a night curled up by Crowley’s side as the demon slept, having zero intention of sleeping himself but just wanting to be by Crowley at all times, to be able to look over and see the demon next to him and be reassured that things really had worked out this well, that it hadn’t all been some elaborate daydream that was about to come crashing down any second now.)

Raphael paused for what felt like a little too long before finally responding, “...if you say so.”

Moving on to the bathroom seemed like a welcome respite after that, though it wasn’t all that much of a surprise that Raphael started off by questioning the room’s very existence, given that neither of them strictly needed to use it. He accepted “keeping up appearances” as an answer quickly enough, though, although the truth involved a bit more than that, including the occasional human visitors who actually _did_ need its use (which had on one memorable occasion led to Crowley running to the nearest convenience store in the middle of the night because while they had thought to provide a bathroom, they initially hadn’t realized that such a bathroom would also require the presence of toilet paper) and more than one dramatic reenactment of what had gone down in a certain bathtub one day in Hell.

Aziraphale hadn’t, however, realized the ramifications of Raphael seeing himself in a mirror.

Raphael had wrinkled his nose at his appearance at first, making some comment about improper attire that would definitely go on the quickly-growing Crowley-teasing list, and that was all fine and dandy. But after that...

“My- my eyes.”

“Hmm?” Aziraphale’s attention had wandered a wee bit as he’d spotted a few ants roaming around the bathtub and was wondering how best to deal with the little creatures, but now he looked back at Raphael, seeing him staring at his reflection, into his own eyes.

His own yellow, snake-like eyes.

“S-something’s wrong with- with my eyes...”

Aziraphale’s heart plummeted as he realized the implications here, realized that Raphael must himself be realizing the implications, and let out a soft but passionate, “Oh dear.”


	4. Chapter 4

“I’m... I’m not an angel at all, am I?” said Raphael as he continued to stare at his reflection in the mirror, as his right index finger began slowly and carefully navigating the twists and turns of the snake tattoo on his face. “I’m a- a _demon_.”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure how to respond to this; it was true, certainly, one of the messy truths he had been trying to steer away from for the time being, but he wasn’t sure whether he was ready to acknowledge it out loud yet. He decided to say quiet and see what else Raphael had to say about the whole thing.

“And- and you didn’t react when I took off my sunglasses, when you saw my eyes. So you- you _knew_.”

Raphael was now staring no longer at his reflection but back at Aziraphale, so a complete and utter lack of reaction seemed like a dicey choice at best. The angel settled for a tense, silent nod.

“Were you planning on killing me?”

This, at least, was able to get Aziraphale talking. “_Heavens_ no!”

Raphael squinted a bit as he looked in Aziraphale’s general direction. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“I wouldn’t lie about that kind of thing!” Aziraphale hesitated a moment before adding on, with markedly less passion, “I’m an _angel_.”

Raphael laughed at that, the laugh bitter and dark and very much reminiscent of Crowley’s usual self.

“Maybe this was all your doing. Is that it? Get the enemy close and them make him think he’s one of you, eh? Brilliant strategy right there, I’ve got to say-”

“No! No, absolutely not.”

“Really? It’d explain why you’re being so damn cagey about things.”

Raphael let the room fill with silence for a long moment before continuing.

“I don’t trust you. I _can’t_ trust you. You’re an angel, I’m a demon. If you want me to believe a single word you’re saying from here on out, then _make me trust you_.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he considered his words carefully.

“I swear on-”

Another pause, another consideration to be made. He wasn’t about to swear on Heaven, not anymore, nor even on the Almighty, even if there was the outside chance that She had in fact planned that things would manage to work out exactly as they had. He’d rather swear on the world, or on humanity; that meant a lot more to Aziraphale these days. But Raphael wouldn’t know that, and he might well assume that Aziraphale was willing to let the world burn like every other angel seemed willing to, that such an oath would be an empty one.

Better to hedge his bets, perhaps.

“-on anything and everything you want me to swear on that this- whatever it is that’s made you forget so much-” Was his voice wavering a little there? “-this wasn’t my doing, and in fact I would very much rather it had never happened, and would do a great deal to reverse all of it.”

Raphael took a moment to consider this.

“Not entirely sure I buy it, frankly.” Some emotion must have shown on Aziraphale’s face there, because Raphael seemed to practically stumble over himself to add, “But either you’re telling the truth or you’re putting on a damn fine act there. Either way, don’t suppose I’ve got many other options when it comes to getting answers right about now... but if _you_ didn’t do it, who did?”

“I...” Aziraphale sighed a little. “I don’t know.”

“Somebody else up in Heaven, maybe? I caused too much trouble, pissed off somebody high up, and they decided to make it personal?”

“I- maybe. I don’t know. It’s possible.”

“You _don’t know_ if one of your side did this?” _Your side._ Those were two words Aziraphale hadn’t heard coupled in some time now. He hadn’t missed their combination. “Why don’t you just go up there and ask them?”

“I’m afraid that’s not really an option for me right now.”

“Why not?”

“...I’m, er, kind of in Heaven’s bad books at the moment.” Aziraphale paused. “Actually, they probably don’t call them bad books up there. Less-good books, then. Or even- even not-good books.”

“You? _You_ pissed off Heaven?” Raphael snorted with disbelief. “Hard to believe. You seem like a right proper angel well enough.”

There was a time when Aziraphale would have interpreted that comment as a compliment of the highest accord.

That time had come and gone a while ago.

But it wasn’t an insult exactly, either, and Aziraphale knew that it wasn’t really intended as either insult or compliment, just Raphael stating the way he saw things.

Aziraphale shrugged and said, “Appearances can be deceiving.”

“You’re not wrong there.” Raphael agreed, though it seemed a little half-hearted. “Well, if _your_ head office isn’t about to give out answers, perhaps I’d better go check in with _mine_ and-”

“No!”

Aziraphale hadn’t consciously realized that he was moving until his hand was already tightly wrapped around Raphael’s warm, bony wrist.

“No?” Raphael looked like he was seriously considering tugging his arm out of the angel’s grasp with as much force as was necessary.

“No.” Aziraphale repeated emphatically, adding as he loosened his grip, “Another impossibility there, I’m afraid. See, last time you were in Hell, you made a deal with them to leave each other alone for the time being... er, more or less.”

The “more or less” was tacked on because Aziraphale knew well enough that it hadn’t _actually_ been Crowley making a deal down there in Hell, though Hell didn’t need to know that, and never would if Aziraphale had anything to say about it.

Raphael stared at Aziraphale for a long moment before saying, “I get the feeling that you think adding ‘more or less’ on the end there was going to somehow magically answer all of my questions for you, but if that’s where you were trying for there, you were way off the mark.”

Aziraphale could feel his face turning red. “It’s true, I swear-”

“So you say. Awfully convenient if it is. And it just brings up more questions, really. What would even prompt that kind of a deal in the first place?”

“It... well... it’s complicated.”

“That much at least I could have guessed.” Raphael rolled his eyes. “I assume I upset someone in Hell--not enough to get properly punished, at least not yet, but enough that they didn’t want to see my face around down there for a while. Hell, maybe this is the ‘proper punishment’ bit right here.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth, though he didn’t have a clue what was going to come out of it when he did, but Raphael pushed ahead.

“But of course now I’ve got no clue what I’ve done, because I don’t _remember_ pissing off anyone down in Hell, I don’t even remember-”

Aziraphale waited for Raphael to finish his sentence, but the demon didn’t, instead staggering backwards as if he’d been slapped, standing back upright for a moment longer before finding the nearest corner of the bathroom and curling up in it.

Aziraphale rushed to Raphael’s side. “Are you alright? What- what happened?”

The answer was soft and low, almost too quiet for the angel to make out as the demon stared resolutely at the bathroom’s gray speckled tiles instead of back at him.

“I remember Falling.”

Aziraphale did his best to summon up a smile, weak though the end result was. Raphael remembering something, _anything_, was a good sign (it _had_ to be), but that was probably one of the worst possible memories to come back first, and he didn’t want to come off as smug for managing to avoid going through the same ordeal. “You told me once that you didn’t actually Fall, you just sort of sauntered vaguely downwards.”

“Yeah, well, that was a lie, then.” Raphael’s shoulders slumped a bit further as he continued to make eye contact solely with the tile floor.

“I figured as much, honestly.” Aziraphale said softly.

“I definitely Fell. I remember it now, remember it clear as day.” Raphael barked out what was probably supposed to be a laugh as he added, “Funny how that works.”

Aziraphale knelt down and sat next to Raphael on the bathroom floor, which was pleasantly cool to the touch. “Funny isn’t the word I’d use there.”

Raphael's whole body shook, his gaze moving slightly upwards to around Aziraphale’s knees as he said, “It’s not _pleasant_, you know, Falling.”

“I wouldn’t have expected it to be.”

“Expected--interesting word choice there, because the truth is I didn’t expect it at all, pleasant or not.” Another bark of a laugh that wasn’t fooling either of them into thinking the moment had any actual humor involved. “Just minding my own business when- when I got shoved into a bunch of boiling sulfur- and I still don’t remember what I did to deserve it. I’m not sure I did _anything_.”

This, at least, was a matter on which Aziraphale shared Raphael’s lack of knowledge. While they’d talked a fair bit about their respective positions and hierarchies over the centuries, Aziraphale and Crowley had never gone over in detail why Crowley had become a demon rather than staying an angel in the first place. It seemed to be a bit of a touchy subject, when it came up, and this time was evidently no exception.

“I-” Raphael sniffled a little. Aziraphale looked into the demon’s eyes, and for a brief moment the two made eye contact; Aziraphale hadn’t noticed, wasn’t sure how long it had been happening, but in that moment, it was clear that Raphael was quietly crying, and perhaps had been for some time. “I helped build the stars, and then one step out of line and bam, thrown into the pits of Hell. How is _that_ fair?”

“It’s not.” Aziraphale answered. He reached out one arm but hesitated before placing it upon Raphael’s shoulder, worried that the gesture might just upset the demon more. “It’s not fair, and I’m not going to pretend that it is.”

Raphael made eye contact with Aziraphale again and leaned towards him, a lean that Aziraphale was eager to reciprocate, the two leaning against one another as Aziraphale wrapped his arm gently but firmly across Raphael’s shoulder.

Raphael sniffled again, though his tears seemed to be slowing. “I must make a- a pretty pitiful demon, looking to an angel for comfort, eh?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t think you’re pitiful at all.”

Raphael snorted with disbelief, but while there was a bit of flippancy to it, his muttered “Well, thanks for that” did sound genuinely grateful, in its own way.

Perhaps that was the best that Aziraphale could hope for.


	5. Chapter 5

“But then, I suppose this isn’t the first time you’ve comforted me, is it?”

Aziraphale hesitated to reply for a moment. It was true, certainly, but given the circumstances, it was also something of a non-sequitur.

“What makes you say that?”

Raphael’s shoulders straightened a little, his posture improving ever so slightly. “I mean, it’s obvious, really. Clearly, we’ve been _fraternizing_.”

Aziraphale might have objected to the way that Raphael said _fraternizing_ if he didn’t know well enough that less than two centuries ago he himself had bandied the word about like an obscenity, despite having significantly more context regarding his and Crowley’s situation than Raphael did right now, and frankly Aziraphale’s tone had probably been the harsher of the two.

The angel felt his face heat up as he considered what to say in response. He certainly wasn’t going to _deny_ it, of course, but how much could he admit to, how much was he willing to say out loud, how much “fraternizing” had Raphael surmised the two had committed by analyzing Aziraphale’s words and body language alone-

“Yeah, that’s about how I thought you’d react.” Was that a hint of humor in Raphael’s tone of voice?

“I- what do you mean by _fraternizing_?”

“Funny you should ask, since really I should be the one asking you. I don’t know, of course--I don’t _remember_. But if you’re telling the truth, and we’re both not exactly in the good graces of our respective head offices--and we’re living together, to boot? Some kind of fraternizing between the two of us is the only thing that makes sense.”

Aziraphale let out a long sigh before admitting, “Well, you’re not wrong.”

“’Course not.” Raphael’s tone wasn’t quite as self-confident as his words suggested, though the front he was putting up probably would’ve fooled most people; Aziraphale, on the other hand, after over six thousand years of dealing with Crowley, liked to think he knew the demon a little better than most, at least. “Now, would you care to elaborate on that a bit?”

“Well...” Where to start? The Garden of Eden? The Apocalypse that wasn’t? The literal thousands of years in between the two, in which Aziraphale and Crowley had gotten to know and... appreciate one another better, bit by bit? Their relationship, their... fraternizing... “It’s kind of a long story.”

Raphael nodded and raised an eyebrow and, while staying silent, managed to convey that Aziraphale hadn’t wriggled out of giving a fuller explanation quite that easily.

“I mean, it, it’s literally as long as a story can _be_, or one that takes place on Earth, at any rate, given that we met just outside the Garden of Eden-”

“It started that early, huh?” Raphael let out a little snort of amusement. “Good to know. And that means- that’s not long after the War, at that point, and we’re an angel and a demon chatting each other up already?”

Aziraphale considered protesting that the two of them hadn’t been “chatting each other up,” that it hadn’t been a mutual thing, that Crowley had chatted him up and he had just made a few token responses in return, because really, what was he going to do, ignore the demon’s words entirely? But Aziraphale was willing to recognize that if he was to have that argument at all, it had better be with a Crowley who actually remembered the events in question, and therefore would have some chance of both comprehending the argument being presented and being able to rebut it with his own perspective on how it had all gone down.

Still, as Aziraphale deliberately averted his gaze, looking back at the bathtub and the handful of ants that had unexpectedly decided to make it their home, he couldn’t help but mutter, “Well, you started it.”

“Oh? Did I tempt you into it?”

Raphael laughed a little at his own joke, but Aziraphale couldn’t help but wonder--was that all it was, at first? Trying to tempt an angel into conversing with a demon, into seeing Hell’s side of things?

But no, that didn’t seem right. Even back then, even in the very first of their many, _many_ conversations over the years, Crowley had seemed interested in Aziraphale not as just another angel but as, well, himself, curious about what he had to say for himself, how he saw the world before him.

Had Crowley been... _interested_ in Aziraphale in the way they were only just beginning to understand and accept, way back then?

(That was a question that Raphael definitely couldn’t answer for him, another discussion that would have to wait for a more able fellow participant.)

“But really, that was an awfully big move to make, especially way back then, when we’d just stopped being at each others’ throats... I mean, metaphorically, you know, during the War and all-”

Aziraphale nodded in perhaps an overly energetic gesture. He knew, he remembered those years well enough even now, all the lives lost in a battle that ultimately changed little, and he would very much like to _stop_ remembering them and change the subject as soon as possible.

Though as it turned out, Raphael didn’t need prompting to move on to a different subject entirely.

“So why? Why did we speak to each other? Why you and me, specifically, speaking to one another? I mean, you’re cute and all-”

Aziraphale’s heart fluttered when he heard that, and while he wasn’t sure if he was going to _tease_ Crowley about those words, exactly, when all this was said and done, they were definitely going into the “to be remembered” pile just the same.

“-but that’s not really enough to go and betray all the forces of Hell for, now, is it? So why you? What makes _you_ so special?”

Aziraphale gulped, and while he could feel Raphael’s gaze upon him, he didn’t dare return it.

“I... I wish I knew.”

His hands were shaking a little, now, but he couldn’t help it--and Raphael wasn’t the only one of them allowed to have emotions, after all, wasn’t the only one entitled to have feelings of his own...

...and there was a decent chance that Crowley wouldn’t even remember all this in the end, wasn’t there? Granted, memory loss was uncharted territory for them, but that seemed to happen in books as often as not, at any rate.

So Aziraphale continued.

“I’ve... wondered myself, sometimes, even in so many words. Why me? Am- am I _special_ in some way? Or was it just because I happened to be the one sent to Earth, was it bound to happen to whatever angel you hung around with for long enough, and I just- just happened to be the lucky one?”

Aziraphale tried to laugh, there, but it didn’t quite come out right.

“But I know it wouldn’t have worked the other way around, at least. I wouldn’t have been able to put up with any other demon like that, certainly not to the point of- of-”

Aziraphale seriously considered using a certain four-letter word to describe their relationship, but decided against it. Crowley always railed against four-letter words, anyways; perhaps this one would be no different.

“-of such close companionship, being best friends- only friends, really, for a bit there... I’m rambling, aren’t I? Sorry about that. But the point is, I don’t know if it had to be me, but it had to be you.”

“Really?”

Aziraphale chanced a glance over at Raphael, who had stood up and moved closer to Aziraphale, wide-eyed and staring right at him, clearly intrigued by what he had to say.

“So, let’s turn the question around, then. What makes _me_ so special?”

Aziraphale laughed, for real this time, though it was soft and a little shaky. “Where do I _start_?”

The question had been meant as rhetorical, but Raphael answered it anyway. “Wherever you like, I suppose.”

“Well--back in ancient Mesopotamia, before the Flood, you hated the idea of it, not because it was part of the Divine Plan, but because it was- well, was so _cruel_ to so much of humanity. You’re a demon, and yet the thought of so many people dying, so many children not getting a chance to grow up--you didn’t relish the pain it would cause, you _despised_ it.”

Aziraphale paused for a moment before adding, in a quieter tone, “You don’t happen to remember that now, do you?”

Raphael wordlessly shook his head.

“That’s fine, I mean, that’s just one bit, there’s got to be a million of them--you saved me back in Paris, during the Revolution, when I’d gone to get some crepes and was about to get my head chopped off for it, you came in and miracled me right out of it!”

Raphael’s eyes narrowed a bit as he said, “I don’t think ‘miracle’ is quite the right word there.”

“Well--whatever your lot call it, then!” Aziraphale took a breath before continuing. “And that wasn’t the only time you saved me, either. You- you walked on consecrated ground just to stop me from getting killed and making a fool of myself, and you saved my books, too, saved them from utter annihilation in the blink of an eye!”

“Is that all?” Raphael was clearly smiling, now, a strange sort of smile that Aziraphale couldn’t fully interpret.

“’_Is that all_?” No, that’s not all, after six thousand years- you- you even made Hamlet a success for me, just because you knew I liked it when I saw it! Don’t try to deny it, either-”

“I mean, I don’t _remember_ doing it-”

“I know you don’t, of course you don’t, that’s not the point-”

Raphael started laughing at his own joke again.

“I could keep going, you know-”

“Oh?”

“But I think I’ve rather made my point clear already.”

Raphael looked a little disappointed at that, but nodded understandingly. “Yeah, I think I get where you’re going here, rambling on about how amazing I am...”

Aziraphale could feel his cheeks go hot and warm at that statement, but, well, Raphael wasn’t _wrong_.

“...and actually, I’ve learned a few things about you now, too.”

“Did you remember-”

“No, I don’t _remember_ any of that, but-” Raphael let out a sigh. “Look. Let me just- just rephrase what I heard you saying just now--not the bits about me, but the bits about _you_\--and maybe you’ll see what I mean.”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure where Raphael was going with all of this, but he was curious enough to want to hear the demon out. “Alright.”

Raphael held up one finger in a manner that looked somewhat accusatory. “You liked Hamlet. You saw a play made by a human--and not one with a clear moral, or even a comedy, but a _tragedy_, a depiction of humans suffering at one another’s hands with the only clear moral at the end being ‘be glad you aren’t any of those guys’--and you liked it, enough that you were glad to see it become a success.”

“That’s not fair, you can learn things from Hamlet if you try, schoolkids still are today as a matter of fact-”

“You sound as impressed that I saved a bunch of your books from getting destroyed as you are that I saved _you_.”

“They were first editions, all of them, exceptionally rare and incredibly valuable, and- I mean, you can _get_ bodies-”

“You went to France, in the middle of the Revolution, because you wanted to eat some crepes.”

“That- well- there’s really nothing like a true Parisian crepe-”

“And in ancient Mesopotamia, as you were watching another bit of the Divine Plan slide into place, not only did you hear out the ramblings of some demon who didn’t like the idea of it, you listened well enough to remember the details of his- er, _my_ argument, thousands of years later.”

That one Aziraphale didn’t have a comeback ready for, but he opened his mouth anyway, perhaps hoping that once his mouth was open, the words would come naturally.

They did not.

“You don’t need to defend yourself like that, you know.”

“What?”

“I’m not listing these off to- to accuse you of some grave misdeeds, or something-”

Aziraphale laughed, shakily, a laugh partially of confusion and partially of relief, as he realized that he _had_ been trying to defend himself, as if the one listing off what he noticed in Aziraphale’s speech had been Gabriel instead of <strike>Crowley</strike> Raphael.

“Then why list them at all?”

“They’re just... different, not what you’d expect of a proper angel, I suppose. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing. I bet the me who remembers it all wouldn’t think of any of them as bad things. Though I don’t know if he- I? Know what even counts as a bad thing, really...”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but be reminded of the first time he had ever talked to Crowley--or Crawley, it had been back then--outside the Garden of Eden. How Crowley/Crawley had suggested that perhaps what he had done by convincing Eve to eat the forbidden fruit wasn’t bad at all, that maybe he’d been good and Aziraphale had been bad and wouldn’t that be funny, if they’d played each others’ roles right there-

“Actually, I do remember something else now, I think.”

Aziraphale looked over Raphael’s face. He wasn’t crying, wasn’t even close to it, and in fact his mouth was quickly forming a wide grin. Whatever he remembered, it wasn’t traumatizing like his Fall had evidently been.

“What do you remember?”

“You-” Raphael laughed a little before starting over. “You gave away your flaming sword? Am I remembering that right?”

Aziraphale covered his face with his hands and turned away. If eating the forbidden fruit had been humanity’s original sin, giving away his flaming sword had been Aziraphale’s, proof that he wasn’t a _real_ angel, a _proper_ angel, that he was really very bad at his job and very bad at advancing the cause of Heaven and no matter how much work he put into hiding that, it would never be enough-

“Hey, look at me.”

Aziraphale turned back towards Raphael, but kept his hands in front of his face, peeking out only through thin lines between his fingers.

Raphael laughed a little. “Stop that, you look ridiculous right now... just look at me, angel.”

The way Raphael said “angel” this time didn’t have the anger and sharpness it had had before; it was softer, sweeter, closer to how Crowley would normally have said the word.

Perhaps that was why Aziraphale acquiesced, letting his arms rest at his side once more.

“You saw people who were struggling, and you did what you could to help them, without asking permission or worrying about how it would affect you... maybe Heaven would consider that bad, but I sure don’t.”

Raphael shot Aziraphale a grin as he added, “I think I’m starting to see what makes you so special.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, consider following me on tumblr at [haberdashing](https://haberdashing.tumblr.com/)!


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